


According to Measure

by Code16



Series: Accountability [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - D/s, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Belts, Case Fic, Corporal Punishment, D/s, Discipline, Established Relationship, Kneeling, M/M, Neglect, Non-Consensual Spanking, Nonbinary Character, Past Abuse, Punishment, Spanking, collaring, protocol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:38:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Harold looks grim, and not just in the way where that’s what he has to be for his role right now. And ok, so maybe this wasn’t really an ideal scenario. But the ideal scenario would have been not getting caught by security, and clearly that’s on him, so properly he just has it coming."</p><p>Or, certain covers precipitate reprecussions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Certain Covers

**Author's Note:**

> See endnotes for elaboration on tags, content notes/warnings, and wip notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to [the_ragnarok](http://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok) for helping me edit and saying nice things.

Going undercover with an identity who’s also a sub isn’t weird. He’d done it all the time, before. (The CIA was old fashioned that way - didn’t like subs playing doms, or even switches. Thought it made them insubordinate or something). Doing it with Harold  _ is _ \- they’ve come to this, to a collar, to being more than an administrator and an operative, so recently in reality that playing it out as someone else is - unsettled, lines about which he’s not really sure where they fall.

He’s in a collar, and not his own, the simple brown one he thinks of as his public collar. Around his ankle, the chain that he thinks of as his permanent collar remains. Personal sentimental value, if anyone becomes in a position to ask. He can’t wear a proper collar as the Switch in the Suit (switch is the best cover for an active job, he’d explained to Harold. Unobtrusive anywhere, and gives you the most options if you’re caught). Not even if he wore a ring or a key with it too - obvious tip off to anyone to look for a partner, and they can’t have that.  _ This _ collar’s fancy, subtly patterned silk and scrollwork and tastefully unobtrusive loop seeming as part of the design. Harold has the matching key, and the lead probably tucked away somewhere.

At the door, a smiling sub in an understated collar but unlinked cuffs coordinated to his vest checks Harold off a list, glances at John and the key, and directs them through the hall. Harold puts a hand on John’s back as they cross inside before stepping in front of him again.

John knows what he’s supposed to do. They discussed covers, before coming here. John Plover calls Harold Plover Sir, walks two steps behind him, knows formal manners and uses them, but not high-formal because it’s not that kind of party. It’s important to have their stories and acts in order, so he should be pleased to have it laid out so clearly. And - he is. The problem being that it makes this considerably more than John himself actually knows about Harold.

Ironically - or maybe not - the sex is working out great. Harold knows him, reads him, works on him until John thinks he might defy gravity, lets him come and tells him how good he is, how pleased Harold is with him. It’s everything he could have wanted if he’d ever allowed himself to do so, and John’s still not entirely convinced he’s alive and not in a dream.

It’s out of bed where things get - confusing. Harold barely touches him - no more than he had before John wore his collar. He hasn’t said anything about forms of address (John realizes he could just try using a few and seeing what happens, but he can never bring himself to. All he can think of is saying the wrong one, Harold’s voice distant or disappointed, and the words refuse to leave his throat). Hasn’t said anything about rules, doesn’t ask John to bring him his tea or fix him his food or kneel beside his chair (again, John knows he could just  _ do _ it, and again he can never manage it).

He knows he’s not the domestic kind of sub, can’t expect to be treated like one, but he’s  _ seen _ collared CIA subs with their doms. The ones you could take for a civilian couple and the ones you could take for a boss and employee and the whole range, but never just - nothing.

John might think Harold only wanted him for sex all along (which, he would have  _ taken _ that, if it was offered. Would have given it without hesitation and felt fortunate to), but Harold promised to never to lie to him, and he  _ did _ get John the collar and the chain and a ring of keys, takes him home even on nights sex doesn’t happen, lies next to him after he’s satisfied and kisses him and calls him dearest John.

It’s disorienting. And, given how John’s last great-sex-don’t-talk-about-the-rest relationship ended up, honestly terrifying.

Which he  _ shouldn’t be thinking about right now _ , because he has a job to do.

Inside the main room, Harold takes out the lead and clips it to the loop, tugs it lightly for John to follow him. He finds a seat, and John settles on his knees next to him, quiet and ready to serve if needed.

It feels absurdly good. The part of him that’s senses and analysis is still on alert, keeping awareness of their surroundings, of the other guests. He won’t drop, not here. But neither that, nor the knowledge that this isn’t  _ real _ can hold back how fantastically right it feels, every part of him at Harold’s pleasure. Harold pets his hair, absentmindedly, and John simultaneously wants to arc into it and feels a new flood of rightness at keeping still, because he’s  _ supposed _ to, because Harold is showing him off and never needs to have the slightest doubt that John will fulfill every expectation. 

He’s taken this cover before, more than once. Mostly with Kara, sometimes not. He’s performed it, because it was what he was there for, performed it to specifications, properly and professionally. Never once had it affected him like this. (He knows why; He stays away from thinking it.)

It was in the plan to spend some time in plain view before acting. John waits it out, feeling hedonistic and somewhat like a thief, pushing back absurd jealousy of his own cover. Then he puts a hand on Harold’s knee, keeps by until Harold takes note of him.

“Sir, may I be excused?” Harold unclips the lead. John gets to his feet. Even with the alertness he’d maintained, he needs an extra moment to get back into full mission mode; tells himself off for it as he feels the reposition in his mind. They’re here for a reason, a purpose. He strolls off like he’s heading for the restroom behind the hall and ducks up the service stairs when no one is looking at him.

Finding the guest office is easy. Plugging in the flashdrive to run Harold’s cracker, then copying the data they need, is almost as easy. Being locked in by an automated response system, is, of course, not part of the plan.

It must be analog, at least partially, or Harold should have caught it. It’s also very good. The door’s shut tight, and this room has no windows, no other exits. In the about 30 seconds before security shows up, John weighs his options. He can fight off security, obviously, but that kind of commotion would almost certainly alert the target. If he’d been alone, he might have just surrendered to them, as a sub or a switch taking the sub option. They wouldn’t likely be very nice about dealing with him (being a single sub, at his age, has that effect), and they’d be watching him afterwards, but they wouldn’t think much of it. Everyone knows subs can’t always keep themselves in hand. That’s what discipline is  _ for _ . Since he’s not alone - that’s actually still an option. Just with an extra step involved. (He’s retroactively severely glad Harold didn’t contest John being the one to go after the data. There’s no sub option for Harold; he’d have just been arrested.)

No one gives them a second glance as security escorts him downstairs. Big party, energetic - people would likely be more surprised if there  _ weren’t _ any subs acting out. He scans through the crowd and points out Harold to them, looks down and does his best impression of chastened.

Harold is very good at this. As he spots them, John’s pretty sure he’s the only one who sees his face go from abject alarm to the what’s-my-sub-done-this-time appropriate to Mr. Plover. That security sees only the latter. John mouths “I got it” as they approach, looks meaningfully towards his hidden pocket. Gets Harold’s barely visible acknowledgment. That’s done, then.

“He said he’s yours?” The security dom on his left has caught sight of Harold’s key, looks briefly from it to the collar. Harold looks over all of them, appraising and attentive.

“He’s mine.” Dammit, now is  _ not _ the time for hearing that to be making John feel like this. He tries to steady himself, hopes the breathing, the way his skin feels suddenly warm everywhere, can pass of as anxiety. He’s pretty sure Harold noticed, though.  

“Come with us, please.”

They take them to a sideroom, empty until now. With a desk, obviously. Security is still holding his arms.

“We caught him in one of the upstairs offices. They’re off-limits to guests. Explicitly.”

“Understood,” says Harold and gives John a look. John keeps his eyes on the floor as though appropriately cowed, subdued and proper.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” He hopes Harold can tell he means the being sorry part. Security starts on the formal speech that translates to “you do it here in front of us or we do it”, the second security switch taking out his certified-administrator card and showing it to Harold. John’s watching Harold more than listening. Harold looks grim, and not just in the way where that’s what he has to be for his role right now. And ok, so maybe this wasn’t really an ideal scenario. But the ideal scenario would have been not getting caught by security, and clearly that’s on him, so properly he just has it coming.

“You can put your card away, you won’t be needing it.” John blinks. Well. That, he hadn’t been expecting. Maybe Harold’s more territorial than he thought. Harold’s looking at John, now, for cues maybe. John does his best at conveying disposed acquiescence silently. ‘Your judgement; I’m fine’. He’s not really  _ happy _ that the first time they’ll be doing this, is here, not as themselves. But Harold’s the dom, it’s his call to make. For that matter, maybe he’d want to continue this at home, anyway.

John catches Harold’s glance at the door. It’s open, which isn’t a surprise - they wouldn’t do this in the main room to avoid disturbing anyone who didn’t want to be, but it was common wisdom that public order was better served by, well, public. John does his best to convey not-botheredness again. Kara liked to order him to a wall in any country where civilians disciplining a sub in the street was still accepted (he got the feeling at some point that she sought out those postings on purpose. And that Snow wasn’t too unhappy to give them to her, however much he might dislike her the rest of the time.) 

Whatever qualms or embarrassment he might have retained after school and the military, that more than took care of.

Security takes him the rest of the way to the desk and lets him go, standing by in case he tried anything. John doesn’t, obviously, keeps running inventory in his head.

Harold is making no move to fetch any kind of instrument. Maybe he’s not carrying one. Security would clearly be equipped, but since Harold had put himself forward for this, that would be suspicious. On him, then.

John undoes his belt, pulls it out through the loops and lays it down on the desk. It’s a good one, sturdy and flexible and not light. It’ll hurt. Harold, to John’s eyes only, looks a bit taken aback. John shrugs, mentally. As a dom, you got the choice of if you ever wanted to issue discipline. You could wear one of the flimsy ones, decorative/functional only, and no one would think twice. As a sub, however many admin-certifieds might pull out their own instruments, if you didn’t have one to hand over if asked there’d be trouble. And carrying an extra object everywhere when there was such a simple option at hand got annoying. (And potentially culturally confusing. He’d been in places where an instrument hanging from a belt loop was for doms, and he’d been in places where it meant you were a sub who was in trouble. Not that that was currently relevant.)

He shrugs off his jacket, finds a chair for it. They’re classy, here, so that’s all for his clothes; everything else stays on. It’ll up the count, but it’s really the nicer option anyway.

That seemed to be about all. In good civilian form (John Plover  _ hadn’t _ been military) he puts his hands on the desk and takes a position. Security promptly grabs his arms again, which isn’t needed, but unless Harold’s going to, it’s not his place to argue about it. Behind him, Harold is having some conversation with security-left. Probably about the count. John tunes it out. Some people liked knowing, having a countdown to hold, but John’s never really gone for that. He starts paying attention again when Harold starts addressing him instead.

“Going into areas we’re told not to is entirely unacceptable behavior and you’re to never repeat it again.” Not going for a double/hidden meaning, then. That’s probably safest.

“Yes, Sir,” he says, watching Harold pick the belt up from the desk. Readies a breathing rhythm, runs through his decisions about John Plover and pain tolerance and discipline. Doesn’t lie to himself that he’s not at least somewhat curious how Harold does this.

The belt swings forward at him.

“That’s one,” says Harold, steady and undemonstrative. John lets himself flinch, pull against security’s hold, feet press into the floor through his shoes, hands harder into the table. It’s loud, sharp and precise as a bullet, obdurate, unsparing. Nothing he can’t take, obviously, but yes, Harold was  _ very _ good at this. (He’d asked Kara once (early on, before he sufficiently knew better) if she could hold back somewhat more when she played his dom. If only for the mission. She’d smiled and run fingers over his face. “John, they’re not amateurs here. They can tell.” Which was true, he knew by this point, that was part of what was taught to admin-certifieds, but she’d seemed rather overly pleased by it, rather than sorry. He can’t see him, but somehow he doesn’t think Harold is.)

Again. (He can hear it through the air, and his nerves process the sound first, an instant before registering what the sound was  _ for _ . He exhales, balls his hands into fists and relaxes them, closes his eyes for a moment.)

“That’s two.”

They carry on like that, Harold with the belt, John acting out John Plover and leaving everything else aside for now. He could think on his actual failing - it’s somewhat ironic, the old reproof about ‘only sorry you got caught’ being actually  _ correct _ here. But there’s no pressing reason to risk distracting himself, and if Harold wanted that he could have indicated it. He sticks to his work.

“Don’t swear,” says Harold once in the middle. Right. Cover. He’s not in a good state of mind right now for thinking through what interjections John Plover would use.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Since he’s not counting, he doesn’t know if that one’s an extra.

When they’re done, he waits until security lets him go and gets up, allows himself to grimace as his muscles shift. Harold has returned his belt to the desk. He puts it on again, then his jacket, then slides to his knees.

“I’m very sorry, Sir.”

“Your apology is accepted.” Harold is looking at him strangely again, and John is not entirely sure how to read it. “Thank you, officers. John, come with me.” John stands up and follows.

Back in the main room, Harold tucks them into an alcove so John can hand over the drive. He’s looking anywhere but at John now, and slips away almost immediately, to wherever he can use his computer here. John kneels again to wait, just another sub off to the side of the room, and forces his brain to stop running scenarios and focus on the actual mission. In a few minutes, his earpiece comes to life, Harold telling him which guest to pickpocket. Then to leave the party, get himself to a different address -

“Shouldn’t we leave together?” He’s still barely used to Harold not minding being questioned like that, giving him explanations rather than sending Enforcement after him like any other handler would have done. Had always done.

“Not in this case, Mr. Reese. I will remain here and keep an eye on Ms. Stein. I still believe she might be at the center of this.”

“Keep me posted,” says John (and Harold doesn’t mind that  _ either _ , that John just practically gave him an order). He gets up to leave.

Fortunately, being sent home for causing trouble is the easiest excuse for leaving alone and early, better even than any he might have come up with. He heads to the apartment, readjusts identities on the way, listens to the information Harold feeds him over the earpiece, and then there’s an interlude with a lot more movement than talking that ends with the smugglers wrapped up for Carter and Fusco and enough evidence at hand to provide for Ms. Stein’s relocation to somewhere much less conducive to ordering hits. He leaves the apartment almost whistling. It’s nice when things are simple sometimes. (His muscles protest again somewhat, but he’s more than used to dealing with it; he’s been in foot pursuits his life depended on less than an hour after Kara and Snow were through with him. This barely registers, in comparison).

He calls Harold with the update and so that Harold can arrange to leave politely before the police start showing up for Ms. Stein, and directs himself back to the library.


	2. Considerations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John thinks about discipline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: John lives in a world with a lot of serious social issues, and has not had the nicest of backgrounds. He’s internalized some rather awful things, and his analysis of the situation draws on them. That John is thinking something should not be taken as meaning it is correct. 
> 
> (See endnotes for more specific/into depth on this).

The thing about being disciplined with his own belt is that he’s still  _ wearing _ it, awareness of it under his jacket an additional pervasive reminder, besides the obvious one.

It’s on his mind while he’s en route, question and  prospect .

Properly, since Harold is technically his boss, he’s had the right to order John to discipline this entire time. (Having less than 15 employees, he wouldn’t be obligated to retain an admin-certified himself. If John preferred to insist on one rather than Harold or a hypothetical delegated employee, Public Enforcement could be called on to send someone over.)

Which, since in reality they don’t exactly have an employment contract and neither of them could really report the other to the Bureau of Labor, was mostly beside the point. But the point was that Harold had never done - anything. Not for directly disobeyed orders, not for basically stalking him, not for turning the comm off and doing the kind of thing the CIA would’ve left him needing medical over. 

It wasn’t impossible to account for, of course. Harold clearly had not gone for a handler position out of desire. It was reasonable entirely that he wouldn’t want to take on the labor of such management just because the operative he’d found happened to be a sub. That he would leave it up to John to manage himself, trust John’s capability as he did in the rest of their work. (John had tried not to let that thought distract him. Much.)

Or else that Harold had been concerned, maybe, about asking too much, pushing, that John would not accept an authority anymore, that attempting to impose it would risk the work that he would not expose to such a chance. (He needn’t have worried, if that were so. It didn’t take anywhere near months for John to know with certainty that Harold could turn and order him to maintenance discipline every third day, and John would go without complaint.) 

 

But whatever theories John may have carried, may have tried (and failed, repeatedly) not to dwell on, are past, now. Left behind the watershed that, was, in fact, Harold’s desire. John shifts his foot, feels the chain against his ankle again. Feels almost breathless, again, or something like it, something in his chest where his lungs are, where his heart is. However unbelievable it might still seem, here it was. Harold  _ had _ taken charge of him, taken him, as unequivocally as their place outside the law leaves possible. And yet they’d been - here, now - for nearly a month, and still Harold - hadn’t.

John has been trying, of course. However little he knows by now his efforts to be good are worth, have ever been worth, there was no question of it, putting in every effort and more. And maybe Harold’s the kind of dom to be lenient in the beginning rather than strict, seeing where things fall before making determinations rather than asserting his control. That seems like Harold, prioritizing information, taking action not with haste but with certainty.

But there’s no uncertainty, this time. It’s about as clear a failure as they come, and Harold had made it just as clear that that display before security was for  _ their _ benefit only. That John should not consider it accounted for.

John finds himself tensing, slightly, feels it in his muscles, in his hands again. That wasn’t strange. Some things, even training and years didn’t knock out of you. (Resignation changed it somewhat, as not so much time with Kara had taught him. As, from his days with CIA enforcement, did dread. But he’s not there, not anymore.) 

If his time with Kara had maybe gotten to an outlier in one direction (even by CIA standards), by most standards he’s ever had, his time since had been an outlier in the other. Outside of his occasional encounters with Public Enforcement or security services (which John considers more job (or life) hazard than punishment) it’s, well - it’s been a while.

It’s been - kind of nice, he notices himself thinking. Tells himself off for it as soon as he catches himself at it. He’s getting spoiled. He’s an operative sub, he’s always known what he signed on for. Still, even the anticipation’s not all bad. Harold seemed to like aftercare, maybe he’d-. 

John clamps down on the thought, cuts it off, hard. What was getting into him lately? Self-indulgence over getting out of discipline first, and then entertaining selfish fantasies over it. Maybe the services had a point, after all, that leaving action/operative subs without discipline too long was asking for trouble. Maybe he should have been actually doing his part and getting himself over to Public Enforcement lately, not let feeling fine lull him into false security. 

John leans back slightly, lets himself think of Harold. Past is past. (Not that that’s something he’s ever been very good at, either.) Failed it or not, it’s not his part, anymore. And whatever else it is, discipline is still - something. “Part of the fundamental connection between dom and sub”, like that Foundations Intro line everyone seemed to quote. He can apologize properly. Put his submission, his dedication in Harold’s hands in a way that doesn’t stay behind bedroom doors, isn’t barely distinguishable from just doing his job. (That, that can’t be wrong, to want. To think of. Not when he deserves it, is asking nothing, will offer it in obedience to whatever decision Harold makes-). 

And whether that puts an end to this intemperance or not, he can confess it properly as well. Be dealt with.

 

Whatever thoughts he might be having, John long since learned never to let go of attention, or get lost in them. When his earpiece comes to life, he doesn’t startle. 

“Mr. Reese?” For all that it’s completely neutral, at the moment hearing Harold’s voice still makes his heart beat slightly harder. Like it, too, wants somehow to give him  _ more _ . 

“Still getting through the city, Harold. Is everything alright?” There’s ways he can speed this up, of course, if he needs to, ones with more risk than is worth it without need. Ones he will absolutely use, should the need arise.

“Quite fine - Ms. Stein is in custody; I’ll know of any developments. But I’m afraid we’ve received a new number.” In his mind, John feels the reposition again. Runs assessment. He’s still in the switch cover, which he doesn’t always keep at a number’s end but is convenient, now. (Mission comes first, of course. And if he couldn’t do his job while awaiting discipline, he’d have been approximately the worst CIA agent in its history.)

“I’m nearly there,” he says to Harold. “What do we have?”

“Our number’s name is Mr. Roger Neria-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In one point of importance: having fantasies (and desires, and etc) about *any* part of your relationship is not at all wrong or inappropriate. It is not ‘selfish’ or at any rate not in any bad meaning of that word. Neither is *not* wanting things.
> 
> Whatever relationship people have, everyone in a relationship has an equal right to their needs, wants, desires, boundaries, etc. And everyone always has the absolute right to not do things/not have things done to them. The *only* time ‘this is something about both of us, but I’m deciding and you don’t get an opinion’ or 'I will make you/you have to' should ever come up is if both people want it that way, and only *insofar* as they both want it. 
> 
> When John thinks that what he thinks about discipline doesn’t matter and he should stop thinking it, he is wrong. (He is the victim of it, and it is not his fault, but it is still _not true_ ). The people who taught him that, in his world, were wrong. And the people who say that kind of thing in our world, are also wrong.
> 
> Similarly, the idea that discipline is an inevitable part of relationships is one of the bad paradigms of this verse, the same way that compulsory sexuality is one of the bad paradigms of our world. Once again, they are both wrong and not true. There is no interaction with their partner in a relationship that anyone is obligated to, and ‘I don’t want it’ is entirely sufficient, entirely valid, and should result in the thing not happening.)


	3. Chapter 4: Household

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 does not currently exist, but I wanted to post this anyway.
> 
> **World notes** : 
> 
> -For subs, not consuming controlled substances (including alcohol) without permission is at the kind of level in this world where John takes it for granted as a rule (the way that for instance in our world most people in a didn't-talk-about-how-we're-doing-this;going-by-social-norm-etc type monogamous relationship would probably assume their partner would be upset if they were kissing someone else, even if this hadn't been discussed).
> 
> -The titles I’m using here are basically placeholders. This world would clearly have a title system (that is actually distinguishing in pronunciation and all!) but I’m a terrible wordsmith and stuff so at the moment this is standing in.
> 
> - _Gender things in this verse_ : This verse has four commonly-used sets of gender words. She/her, Ms., etc are generally used by women. He/him, Mr., etc, are generally used by men. Zie/zer, Mx., etc, are generally used by nonbinary people as in, people who have a gender and it is nonbinary. They/them, M., etc are generally used by everyone else, including agender people. (The 'generally' covers for instance people who aren't men but feel closer to that than to anything else and want to use that set. Etc).
> 
> 'Nenni' as a gender-neutral term of address for a parent is taken from ’Cennend’ on [this list](http://genderqueeries.tumblr.com/titles).
> 
> Thank you to the person who answered some questions on army things for me, though note that I still very much don’t know a lot. 
> 
> John continues to have internalized stuff. Wanting things in a relationship continues to be a thing everyone gets to do.

Walking into the library, John can see the three photos Harold has put up on the board. At the top, of course, is Roger - his army officer’s picture. The one to the left is also army, though enlisted. John notes the collar. _Military sub_. The other is a civilian, somehow managing to smile endearingly in a state id. “mx. Zilya Neria, mr. Benjamin Neria.” Harold points them out in turn. “Mr. Neria’s submissives and cohabitants. I’m attempting to identify coworkers as well, but I’m afraid it might take some extra time; Mr. Neria’s occupation appears to be the secretive sort.” John nods.

“Think he’s intelligence? Or counter-int?” Harold’s mouth purses - John wants to smile before he remembers he probably shouldn’t, now. Of course Harold is finding even a momentary barrier an annoyance, in places where most people wouldn’t even think to venture.

“Perhaps. In any case, his recent history at least has been more amenable to discovery. Mr. Neria has been in New York three months now. He and mx. Neria had spent the previous 14 months deployed, and before that were stationed in Germany, though Mr. Neria had departed for two weeks back to his hometown, coinciding with his collaring of mr. Neria.” John blinks at that.

“Whirlwind romance.” Harold waves a hand.

“They appear to have known each other throughout school. Still, certainly cannot rule out something untoward. mr. Neria seems to have been living with Mr. Neria’s sister during the deployment - she and her submissive are recent parents. While I doubt this was the desired living arrangement after the collaring, to all accounts it seems to have been a harmonious one.”

“Yeah, taking out her own brother to get the babysitter back would be kind of overkill.” Harold gives him a look, and John wants to return his own version before remembering, again, that he shouldn’t. Looks back at the board instead. “Domestic sub, guessing he stays at home.” So any attack on Roger in his house might just count him off as collateral, rather than trying for a time when he wasn’t home.

By Harold’s expression, he’s thinking the same thing. “I’m afraid so. mx. Neria, conversely, has continued zer military employment, though there may be some upheaval there - zie’s had quite a number of appointments at the army medical center over the past two months, and has been on modified duties for nearly the same period.” John grimaces in sympathy. Being injured’s never fun, of course, let alone the longer term stuff, but the ‘something’s probably wrong extended testing’ version isn’t a much preferred one.

“Well, I’d say whoever’s behind that was on our victim shortlist if they weren’t probably on the other side of the world.” Harold grimaces as well.

“I had arrived at much the same conclusion. In any case, especially until I can discover more about it, we can’t rule out that Mr. Neria’s work has followed him home.” John nods.

“I’ll get over to the house, see if I can find anything.” Harold’s already turning back to his screens.

“I’ll let you know if I discover anything from here.”

 

Outside the library, John has to stop a moment. He isn’t shaking, isn’t breathing hard, quite, but he feels on edge of it, the membrane of the mission only enough to hold it back. Which is ridiculous of course - he knows what’s coming, he’s been as good as told, and he knows the deferment; there’s no reason for Harold to need to tell him again, to show it somehow, for anything but going about their work as on any day. And that - that he’d expected, that he’d thought -.

(Deferred discipline brings it’s own memories. A ticket for Army Enforcement, folded down and away. Not distraction but opposite to it, the knowledge that all would be dealt with, put back in order. He was still wanted.  

Kara’s expression, the sting of wood across his palm. Barely discipline, a stroke or two, gone in minutes - reminder of what would be to come. (Not even good memories, that. Not anything like what he - has, now, impossibly and somehow. And still they come to mind.))

It doesn’t matter what he expects. It doesn’t matter what he ( _wants_ , some part of him whispers, treacherous, and he can’t cut it off, flashes of images - kneeling at Harold’s feet, a hand in his hair, a tug on his collar. _“Your apology is accepted”_. Wishing, wanting suddenly so much that it could - that it were real).

He makes his hands into fists, clenches till fingernails cut into his palm. It doesn’t matter what he wants. What Harold wants from him, what Harold plans - the chain that’s on his ankle has no nameplate; doesn’t need one. _Belongs to. To serve and to obey_. There is nothing, that he can want, that he wants more than that.  

–

Harold calls him again when he’s partway to the house.

“mr. Reese, some good news. Or mixed news, perhaps I should say, given the circumstances. It seems that among his domestic affairs, mr. Neria keeps a calendar for the family - quite an extensive one. I’m forwarding it to you now. I’ve also rendered it inaccessible outside of cache for the time being in what will appear to be a maintenance period. I’ve found no evidence of outside access, but I’m afraid there’s no way to be entirely sure of these things.” And if Roger had been accessing it at work, someone could just have looked over his shoulder, leaving no trail for Harold to find. “On the positive side of this, however - mx. Neria has regular charges at the metro, so I believe zie likely utilizes public transportation. Mr. Neria owns a car which he almost certainly drives.”

“Any chance he’s been filling up near work?”

“I’m afraid not. Gas station charges all near their home.”

“Either he’s being very careful or he doesn’t want to stick around.” With the chances of a threat from that direction going up either way.

“I came to much the same conclusion.” And not much to do about it, except what they already are. The calendar comes up promptly on John’s phone. Extensive, as Harold said, and color-coded. Both Roger and Zilya work this Saturday. ‘Zilya’s home’, in orange, is a square of maybe 10 minutes. ‘Sir said he should be home!’, gold and with hearts at the end, spans two and a half hours, beginning an hour after the orange square. Which is quickly coming up. The phone doesn’t need Harold to tell him the closest stop to the Neria home. He relays to Harold, adjusts his route. Better a secondary source to start than none.

 

Zilya is as punctual as zer square. Zer phone offers no unusual challenge. Zie heads directly home from the station; John’s found himself a sightline good enough to see Benjamin opening the door.

He considers possible ruses for getting inside (by the calendar, he’s not getting an empty house today), starts his survey of the outside and surroundings.

 

The survey demonstrates its usefulness nearly immediately.

“Harold, they’ve got security cameras.” He hears a pause in typing from the other end, then more typing.

“Ah. Is your laptop in the car, mr. Reese?” It is. “Set it up and let me in.” John sits with the laptop (Harold doesn’t have the screen show what he’s doing; safer that way) watching the house for a few minutes before Harold’s voice replaces computer sounds again.

“Now what - oh, dear.”

“Harold?” John’s ready to jump out of the car - he’ll feel rather ridiculous if the cameras caught someone sneaking in while he was here, but that’s considerably better than missing it completely.

“It appears that Mr. Neria has nearly the entire house equipped with surveillance. Yet again that’s good news for us - or it will be once I’m through the encryption - this is an excellent system, by the way, Mr. Neria is no casual consumer - but it may not be good news for Mr. Neria. And I’m afraid there’s no way to take it down without him almost certainly calling in a complaint, at least. I’ve discovered no breaches so far, and it would take someone of quite high skill to achieve one, but given likely predictions for Mr. Neria’s employment -.

“Think we should take it down anyway?”

“I’d prefer to refrain for now. The company would be an extra variable, and in any case, possibly interrupting a plan we don’t know of yet might not be the best idea at this stage. If the perpetrators decide to postpone while they reconfigure we will only have a bigger problem on our hands. Unless you think otherwise?” John’d been thinking about the same thing, over all. The question still feels like something in his solar plexus. He conveys the former to Harold; thinks his voice is steady enough.

“In any case, I’ll keep monitoring, and send you the feeds once I have them.”

 

John takes the time to finish his more old-fashioned survey (and the wiretap); returns to the car to look at the feeds. Zilya’s in the kitchen, slicing something at the counter. Benjamin’s reading in the living room. John can’t see the title, but the top of the stack next to him reads _The Happiest Baby_.

Harold would almost certainly have mentioned pregnancies. Still, better to be sure.

“Any household happy news to be?” He imagines Harold’s expression, the flick of his eyes to some side monitor.

“What - oh, I see. No not that I’ve found. But I notice some mentions of consultations recently, so it may be in the works.“ There’s a pause. “mr. Reese, do you think Mr. Neria might know of some plot against him?” John looks at the screens again.

“If he does he’s leaving Benjamin wide open. Camera’s won’t help you if you’re a drive away. New sub, new household - could just be keeping an eye on his own.” The background noise John associates with Harold working breaks for a moment.

“Is that  - common?”

“Probably not for civilians.” _You watch me all the time_ , he doesn’t say. Tries not to think about. (Two weeks ago, one of the nights Harold went home alone, ms. Bailey from across John’s hall had seen him heading up, invited him in for the game. Not really his thing, but it’s good to know the neighbors, if he needs it later. He’d gone without really thinking; taken the beer when tossed one without really much more. It hit him the next morning, his shirt drying over a chair (an unsteady folding table and trained-in caution about revealing his reflexes when he’s being a civilian had ended with a good half can spilled on him) feeling like an accusation.

(Not her fault, of course. He’d never even worn his collar at home. Can’t really expect a ‘if your dom’d be fine with it?’ like that, even if that were someone else’s to keep a watch for and not his.) He’d spent an hour waiting for a call, the rest of the day after ( _“we have a new number, mr. Reese”_ ) wondering if he should confess. Not knowing how.

“If you bring that shirt with you I’ll send it to be cleaned,” Harold had noted as he took his coat down in the evening. (John stopped himself from trying to beat Harold to the coat stand). “I’m glad your neighbors like you but I do wish they’d be more careful.” And then John hadn’t known what to do at all.)

–    

The phone rings half an hour in. Zilya walks to the kitchen line, calls “Benjamin!” without picking up. He grabs the front hall receiver, puts it to his ear running up the stairs.

“Nenni! How are you? How’s the trip.” John lets himself relax back. Not a ransom demand, not a threat. He listens with half an ear, enough to catch any ‘I keep seeing some dark van up the block’ and its like that might be confided to an obviously close parent. (There aren’t any). Enough that he notices when the voice on the other end changes from descriptions of architecture and questions about some sewing project to a different tone.

”That army sub hasn’t started making trouble for you has zie?”

“Nenni!” For the first time in the conversation, Benjamin looks other than completely cheerful.

“Don’t sound like that at me when I’m watching out for you. These types, they get into all sorts of things all out and about, and then they don’t know their place.” Benjamin frowns at the phone again.

“Come on Nenni. Zilya’s great. You should meet zer sometime. And Sir would never let anyone hurt me.”

“I should think not. You’re the hearthstone of his home now, honey. And mind that no one forgets it.”

“Sir doesn’t forget anything.” There’s a laugh from the other end of the line.

“Alright, alright. And you’re behaving for him, right?”

“Course I am.”

“Course you are; I raised you right.

\- Oh, that’s for me. Love you, honey. Good night.”

“Love you, Nenni.”

The line cuts out. Benjamin walks back to the living room, sits back on the couch with his book. John tries to turn all his attention back to scanning for trouble. (And if possible somewhat less of it to anything about hearthstones of the home, and knowing one’s place.)

–

The next one to get a call is Zilya. This one’s zer cell - the ID only says Sam, which isn’t very helpful, though at least probably less likely to be a ransom call, still. Zie retreats from the stove to pick it up. (Benjamin had come in ten minutes before to set the table, then returned to his reading.)

“Sam, I’m home.”

“Right, sorry.” The call cuts off. A moment later the landline rings again.

“Sorry about that. Keep forgetting.”

“Not a problem. Rule’s for me, I keep it. Though you don’t have to call me every day, you know. I might not be all in perfect health, but I’m not dying.”

“I like calling my friends though. Specially ones I just found again. Listen, did you think at all about coming by the center?” The camera’s not angled right to catch Zilya’s expression.

“Sir said no. Says I’m his and-”

“‘And your needs are his’. Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” This time he doesn’t think he really needs to see zer face.

“Sam, you know it’s not like that. He’s not like one of your civilians; he was there too.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I just - Listen, Ma’am has a friend visiting next week. Captain. Zer sub took a bullet in the spine back in ‘04. D’you think your Sir might have tea with them or something, if she invited?” Zilya sighs, a half head shake.

“You’re really making too much out of this.”

“I’m really not.”

“I’ll ask. But if he says no again-”

“What he says goes. I get it. I’m not trying to subvert you, Zil. It’s in our values statement and all. I’m just - I just want to help.” Zilya’s turned enough that he has part of a view.

“I know.” Not really a smile, but not fully not. With Sam’s leading, the conversation moves on to something about pie recipes. John listens through to the end before calling Harold.

“Got any Sams Zilya might know?” Typing again.

“Based on the call that would be a m. Collins-Green. Lives with their Mistress and Owner. Looks like they and Zilya met while deployed - not this past time, some years before. They reconnected at a grocery store a week and a half ago. Do you think they’re a threat?”

“Well, I don’t think they like Roger much, but if they’re planning tea dates for him next week they’re probably not trying to kill him. Anything about a ‘center’ they’d mention?” This pause is even shorter than the last.

“New York Center for Submissive Veterans. They volunteer there. Their dominants make donations.”

“Civic minded.” And once again probably not dangerous. The edge of John’s eye catches something - he turns his head to see a car turning onto the street. Wrong side for the license number, but make, model, are enough identity, with any probability.

“And looks like Roger’s coming home.” 


	4. Chapter 5: Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to the_ragnarok for beta help!

His concerns about getting Roger’s phone turn out misplaced; he jacks it without trouble, watches and listens as Roger gets out of the car and heads to the door.

Zilya and Benjamin both greet him in the entranceway. Benjamin opens the door again, kneels to take his shoes. Zilya gets his coat, carries his bag to below the stairs. 

“Welcome home, Sir.” 

“Good to be home.” He tugs on Benjamin’s collar, tosses Zilya a paper bag from his pocket - “for after dinner - don’t look” - before heading upstairs. (Zilya doesn’t look. Benjamin follows it with his eyes and a bit of a pout, but likewise doesn’t.) John follows Roger through the cameras as he changes clothes (keeps his phone, though), comes back downstairs again and into the dining room. Zilya’s on hand again; gets his chair as Benjamin carries pots out of the kitchen. 

Benjamin serves, but they all sit together, Roger at the head, the other two to his left and right. He asks about their days, tells an anecdote of his own about taxi summoners and traffic. Nothing about work, still nothing that might cause alert from any of them. After, Benjamin clears the dishes and Zilya serves tea, brings the paper bag back to him when he asks for it. It’s wrapped chocolates, one of the kinds John’s seen in European drugstores. He gives two to Zilya first, takes another for himself before handing the bag on to Benjamin. Zie looks from them to him, clearly pleased surprise.

”Had a meeting, store was right across the street. I remember you always liked them.” That’s - something, maybe. John relays to Harold. Zilya’s still smiling.

“Thank you, Sir.” Zie tears open a wrapper, lays the other one aside. Roger, opening his own, shakes his head.

“No, none of your frugality. It’s a treat, enjoy it. And Benjamin, taste of Europe for you. Someday I’ll bring you over too, show you the sights.” Benjamin brightens up at that, eats his own chocolate and finishes his tea before Zilya clears up. 

 

The calendar for that evening said “Sir and Zilya’s night”, no further elaboration. For now all three retire to the living room. Roger settles on the couch, pulls Zilya next to him as Benjamin stays standing, shifts a bit from foot to foot.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I was just - wondering. When you go out tonight. If I could come too - maybe?” Roger’s expression hardens in an instant.

“Benjamin!” He winces, looking at the carpet. “Bedroom corner.” Benjamin disappears. Next to Roger, Zilya is looking down zerself, biting zer lip. He looks at zer in clear inquiry.

“I don’t want to make trouble in your house, Sir.” Roger pulls Zilya back against him.

“You’re not making trouble. It’s my house, I take care of it. Benjamin will learn.” He puts his arm around zer and zie relaxes slightly. He holds zer for a moment, then sits up, gives a tug on zer collar. “Go get dressed. I’ll deal with Benjamin and meet you at the door.”  

 

Benjamin had gone where he was told. Roger sits down on the bed before letting him turn around, calling him over to stand in front of him.

“Benjamin, we’ve talked about this.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I make time for Zilya, and I make time for you, and I make time for both of you. And I  _ don’t _ like having my decisions questioned. And this is more than once now.” Benjamin is looking down again, miserable. (John feels half guilty, listening in on this. But Roger could still suddenly mention something about a threat, danger. Being more careful.)

“I’m really sorry, Sir.” His eyes dart briefly toward the nightstand; John doesn’t feel he needs to wonder what might be in its drawer. Roger sighs.

“Next time, this won’t be a warning.” Benjamin makes a momentary glance up. “I accept your apology.” Roger stands and Benjamin throws himself into his arms, possibly with a sob. Roger catches him, lets him stay. “I love you both very much, and I will take care of both of you. And I need you to mind me.” Benjamin nods, head against Roger’s shoulder. “And apologize to Zilya.” He nods again. Roger lets him go. “Go do that now.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Benjamin disappears again. John watches him find Zilya, watches Roger as he heads downstairs. Ignores the sudden lump in his throat and tries not to wonder if Harold was watching.

 

John follows carefully when the car heads out (Roger drives). (He doesn’t much like leaving Benjamin, but for all that Roger has his own and Zilya’s military training on hand, leaving him would probably be worse). Harold calls him on the way - the search for meetings across the street from stores with European confectioneries has yielded nothing. The effort at Roger’s work details is still ongoing. Roger’s phone must be social only - has no work contacts, nothing of particular importance. “In the meanwhile, they must keep depending on your expertise.” John swallows. 

“I won’t let you down.” He shouldn’t have said that. Not when he’s still to account for failing in it, barely hours ago. He winces, bracing for the reprimand. 

“I know you won’t, mr. Reese.” The line cuts out before John can think of what to say. He makes himself focus on the road, the cars ahead. This is how lucky he is. He’d do right, for once, to remember. And  _ try _ \- not to be worthy, of course. But at least - something like what his dominant is due. What Harold deserves.

 

Roger takes Zilya to a bar with live music, some small place John’s not sure he’s seen before. John finds himself a seat in a corner, hopefully out of their line of sight, grabs a hat to pull down lower.  Roger stretches a shot over their entire time there, buys Zilya fancy non-alcoholic drinks with colorful accessories. Zilya laughs.

“You spoil me, Sir.” Roger touches a hand to zer neck, hairline right above the collar.

“Never.”

Zie’s finishing the latest drink when Roger gets up, takes zer hand to pull zer down. “Come on.” He’s going toward the dance floor. Zilya hesitates a moment, then follows, obedience clearly overruling the worry he can see. Roger must see it too. “I won’t tell you to dance, little one. Just stand while I hold you.” He does, moving slightly to the music, waiting for zer to relax more in his arms. “Just like old times, mm?” John can’t hear Zilya’s response to that, or Roger’s after. They stay like that until the next song ends.

 

Roger and Zilya come home late. Benjamin doesn’t get the door this time. (John had checked on him a few times through the evening - he’d done the dishes and loads of laundry and ironed what must be Roger’s shirts before going back to reading again.) It must not be expected of him, because Roger doesn’t call him for chastisement. 

“Benjamin?” Different tone, this time, entirely.

“Here, Sir.” Benjamin calls back from the living room, but doesn’t get up. Roger looks satisfied at that, turns back to Zilya again. 

“How’re you feeling, little one?” It’s a ‘and be honest’ voice. John recognizes that one, for sure.

“Pretty good, Sir.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Upstairs. Position five, 10 minutes.” Zilya’s eyes widen slightly, but zie doesn’t question, again. Roger does a more thorough check on Benjamin before heading up after zer.

 

The room Zilya goes into has no cameras; both of them leave their phones on the other side. John, privately, can admit he’s just as glad. He’ll go all sorts of uninvited places for their work and not feel much bothered about it, but some things really are pushing it. Even if it wouldn’t be the first time. He takes the time to attend more to the surroundings again, do another round on foot. Finds nothing, still. 

He can see them again when they emerge, Zilya leaning against Roger. He takes zer to the shower (there’s no cameras in the bathroom either, but he can hear it through the wall), sits zer down on the bed before calling down for Benjamin. They take turns brushing their teeth. Zilya sits still for a few minutes more before rousing some and getting up, changes from the robe into night clothes (John makes an executive decision and averts his eyes). The surveillance cameras and John’s eyes and the rest still show nothing; Harold’s search has still yielded no results.

Roger and Benjamin take the master bed; Zilya settles on the mattress at the foot. The cameras are good quality, still display the bedroom in the almost dark, the stairs, the living room, the entrance halls. For lack of a better option he and Harold trade off watches, John in the car, Harold remotely, ready to wake John at signs of trouble. (If the house is suddenly swarmed by assassins, John doesn’t want Harold anywhere nearby). (He’d like to say that a better option would be his own uninterrupted watch, but he’s learned the untruth of that enough not to need to resist arguing (much) when Harold pointed it out).

Zilya gets up to patrol once on John’s watches, another on Harold’s. Morning comes with the house still silent. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **wip note** : this story very clearly needs emotional arc and resolution. I am very much hoping to be able to give it that, as best I can. However, at the moment that hasn't happened yet, and it currently ends before it does. I'm hoping this won't be a permanent state, but cannot guarantee it and thus wanted this information provided to people for whom it is important.
> 
>  **elaboration on tags, and content notes/warnings** :  
>  _Alternate Universe - D/s_ \- This is not the same D/s verse as my other fic, it’s a very particular one with some very particular rules and features. It is also fairly towards the less nice end of the 'fantasy oppression' scale with respect to such verses. Additionally, I have made a verse with rather serious social issues, and in this story I am generally not dealing with them.  
>  _Established Relationship_ \- The characters are in a relationship before the story begins, however not for very long, and still have a considerable amount of issues that need to be worked out.  
>  _Non-Consensual Spanking_ \- Corporal punishment is a fact of society in this particular verse. As such, while it is nonconsensual in the way that having a job is nonconsensual rather than in the way that kidnapping is nonconsensual, that still means that it is, in fact, nonconsensual. In a different expression/conceptualization, "Bad Guys Made Them Do It" with society as the bad guys in question.  
>  _John Reese/Kara Stanton_ \- John and Kara were not in a relationship according to the standards/definitions of this verse. However, if people in our universe were doing the kind of thing John and Kara did here, I would consider it accurate to tag them as /. Therefore, proceeding in accordance.
> 
>  **additional warning/re the neglect tag** : Harold is not being a very good dom in this story. Not out of any kind of malice etc, but, it is still happening. A major part of the point of the needed emotional arc is dealing with this, but since that is currently not here, content note accordingly.
> 
> [My tumblr for these kinds of things](http://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com). I love fandom social things, and anyone who feels like they might want to message etc me for any reason is encouraged to totally do so.


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